3rd Person POV:

Narcissa was more than surprised that not a single guard had noticed the missing wand. In fact, she hadn't seen a single guard since her breakfast skirmish six days ago when she took the wand. They had knocked on her door, announcing the meal they had, and she would refuse it. She wanted to keep out any guards as long as she could because she had recently renovated her prison cell.

Where once was mold and dirt covered floors was now polished and smooth mahogany floor. In the corner she had placed a lovely table with a chair for her to sit in. She had even added a comfy cushion onto her chair, green patterned with silver curls in complicated figurations. She had transfigured an old napkin into a forest green tablecloth, the dirty plate she had been given into fine china, and her cup once filled with punch into a formal glass, rounded perfectly to her hand with a decorated stem. In the opposite corner, she had a comfortable bed that took up most of the room with a detailed quilt and silk sheets that were so smooth against her skin. Every morning she would awaken from her wonderful sleep, use a cleaning spell on her prison clothes, and prepare some tea. She spent a lot of the day cleaning her cell and putting up silencing spells so she didn't have to hear the other prisoners act like dogs to get their meals.

She had figured out quite quickly the limits of her happiness in Azkaban. While she had a wand, the walls seemed to absorb magic that had been sitting for too long. Narcissa would constantly keep watch over her things to make sure they did not start to disappear or transfigure back into their original form. And since food could not be pulled out of thin air, as so many objects can, she had to keep some of her Mushed Mystery so that she could expand it and turn it into different foods. But most importantly of all, her cleaning spells wore off much too quickly for her liking, and so she was constantly sending them across the room at the walls and floor, even her clothes would become so much dirtier than was normal for clothes to be.

"Scorgify," Narcissa pointed the wand at the only empty corner of the room where mold had begun to multiply. The mold disappeared, leaving, in its place, the squeaky clean stone wall.

She sighed and looked out the only tiny window in her cell. It was midday, and the sun was up in the sky. The waters around the island prison would be so nice to look at; however, they were keeping her from her only son. Many times she had thought of Draco while attempting to clean the floor or keep the table legs from disappearing, so many times, in fact, she had lost count so long ago. She wished that prisoners could send owls, so that she may send Draco a letter asking him to come and visit her to see how he was doing. She was sure that without his father, Draco would be so much more successful with his life. Unlike Lucius, Narcissa actually cared about Draco, so much that she would give up the wand and let her prison cell fall back into filth just long enough to send an owl. She did miss him dearly…

Narcissa took a sip of her tea, thoughts of lost family making her lose her appetite for the Shepard's pie that she had on a plate in front of her, leaving to turn slowly back into Mushed Mystery. There was a knock at her door, causing her heart to give a little jump.

"Oh Cissy, girl. I got your luncheon here. Would ya' like it?"

She remained silent.

"Oh? The fancy-pantsy Mrs. Malfoy too good to answer my lunch call?" There was the distinct sound of the guard's hand on the door knob. Narcissa panicked and quietly cast "Finite" around the room. Her table shrunk into nothing, her plate turning dirty once more, her wine glass melted back into an average cup, her bed morphed back into the wall, and all the dirt came back full speed. She quickly stuffed the wand down the front of her prison uniform.

"Cissy? Oh Cissy? You aren't dead are ya? I know you haven't eaten in a while…you must be famished…" The guard opened the door. Narcissa pretended to be against the wall, looking into nothing. The guard made his way over to her, snapping his fingers in front of her face. She blinked and finally looked up at him.

"Oh, just waking up, are we, Cissy? I've got your lunch here. Ya' outta eat it. It will do ya good…but of course…I won't just hand it to ya."

Determined to look anywhere but at the guard's face, she found a collection of mildew on the floor to stare at. She made a note to herself to clean that spot first when the guard left.

"No? What's wrong with ya? Ain't got a stomach anymore?"

The mildew was so absolutely filthy looking, almost as if it should grow legs and start crawling around. May Merlin have mercy upon that mildew once Narcissa got a hold of it…

"How about a tongue? Ya got one of those?" The guard narrowed his eyes and followed Narcissa's line of sight.

"Ah… staring at a pile of mildew, are ya? Such the clean-freak."

Even if the guard had quite an enjoyable time making fun with the prisoners, fear always crept into his mind when they started going crazy. It was a horrid thing to watch. He remembered a time when he had one prisoner who became obsessed with a certain scratch on the wall, spending all day using his nails to try and make it even with the rest of the wall. Months later, his fingers were bloody stumps without nails on them, and yet he still clawed at the scratch. Eventually, the man choked himself to death with his own hands, but he had managed a scratch on the wall right next to the original one. Stuff like that always happened to the prisoners who were in long enough. Without anything to do, they had to come up with something, even if it was staring at mildew. He guessed in another couple weeks, Cissy would be covered head to toe in dirt and mold trying to clean up her cell before she finally did herself in. It wouldn't be the first time…

The guard dropped the plate of prison food onto the floor and exited without another word. The mysterious green slop that was now splattered on the floor did not have two seconds before Narcissa cleaned it. Once again, the whole cell was clean. She breathed a sigh of relief and sank down onto the floor. She would live in a dirty house for the rest of her days to be able to send an owl to Draco. How dearly she missed him…

Harry had finally made it to his room at Hogwarts, where Hermione had said she would expect him. Her exact words on the letter had been "Harry, Ron and I will be waiting in your room to talk to you about something important. If you are not there in one hour, so help me, I will track you down and drag you there myself, not bothering to hide your real identity. Do not make me use magic against you, Harry, because I will. That's how important this could be."

Needless to say, Harry figured he should go.

He opened the door to find Hermione and Ron both sitting casually on his bed staring out the window.

"You don't think tha' beater is gonna swing the bludger at the quaffle again, do you? It would completely ruin the keeper's record, not to mention the Gryffindor lead…"

"Harry! You showed up." Hermione smiled.

He stopped himself from rolling his eyes, half a smirk growing on his lips. "Well, you sort of threatened to drag me here anyway, so I figured I should just go willingly."

"Look, Harry, we can't explain everything to you just yet, but we need to ask you a few questions." Ron nodded in agreement sheepishly, dragged into this by Hermione.

"What?" Harry was sort of taken aback by the sudden bluntness. "What questions?"

"Mate," Ron said, "you can't get mad, but we can't tell you what they're for. We've…sort of…made promise to someone that we wouldn't say anything."

"Alright," Harry said slowly, making his way over to the chair to sit down.

Hermione sat up straight. "Do you remember anything significant happening sometime around this date, or possibly a few days from now, in the past?"

Harry furrowed his brow. "Significant?"

"Yeah," Ron replied, "like a day where you got into any fights, or arguments, maybe."

He pondered a moment. "How far in the past? Like, last year?"

"Anytime from first year to last year. Though probably not last year." Hermione looked to Ron. "About this time last year we had already defeated Voldemort. That's not relevant to this. Anything from other years?"

"Uh…first year…it's around the time I fought Quirrell, or went to the hospital wing after the battle. Second year…inside the Chamber of Secrets…or in the hospital wing making sure all the petrified people were alright, and Ginny, too. Third year…I could have been fighting with Wormtail and Sirius, or fighting all those Dementors…or in the hospital wing after they attacked both Sirius and I…come to think of it, I've always been in the hospital wing for some reason near the end of the year."

Hermione sighed. "Well, being in the hospital wing isn't what we're looking for, either."

"Fourth year…it's around the time Cedric died and Voldemort got a body again at that cemetery. Fifth year…Battle in the Department of Mysteries. Sixth year…I was probably watching Dumbledore die…" Hermione gave a questioning look a moment before standing and leaving the room. Ron and Harry looked out the door after her, then at each other before standing and following after her.

"'Mione! Where are you going?"

She called back over her shoulder, "To Dumbledore's grave."

Both boys were confused, but continued to try and catch up with Hermione anyway. They all walked in silence through the halls and across the grounds until they arrived at the sacred place. Hermione squatted beside the grave, brushed off some of the dust that covered the inscription. She quickly calculated the time from the given date in her head.

"It says he died two years and three weeks ago." She stood.

"Well that makes sense. That was the year that school ended early." Ron smiled. He had made a connection, and he was proud. "So there's no way it happened sixth year, either."

Once again, Hermione sighed. "We need to talk to Headmistress McGonagall."

McGonagall had been perfectly stressed inside her office when there was a knock at the door. "Come in."

Hermione walked in first, followed by Harry and Ron. "Headmistress, could we use your pensieve?"

McGonagall looked sternly between them. "So I take it you have not gotten anywhere in figuring out the anniversary, then?"

The former teacher's pet had the expression as if she had only barely made the minimum requirement of parchment for an essay instead of a couple inches past it. "No, we haven't. It's…difficult."

Harry looked between the two females, very confused as he hadn't the slightest idea what they were talking about. Anniversary?

"Very well…" McGonagall turned and went to her mirror, opening it with a quick wave of her wand. Inside was a collection of small flasks, each dated.

"If you cannot tell, Mr. Potter, I am much more organized with my memories than Dumbledore was. As well as experienced with dated memories." She brought a bowl off the top shelf and placed it on the desk. Harry could see how much different it was from the one Dumbledore had kept.

McGonagall stepped over to Harry, placing her wand tip to his head and removing several silvery strands and placing them into the bowl. It felt odd, to Harry, as if someone was pulling a string through his brain; not exactly painful, just weird. The strands sifted around the bowl, neither liquid nor gas, all hazy and mysterious.

"It seems he has quite a few memories to choose from." McGonagall looked to Hermione. "While I would say we all could have a look at the memories, Ms. Granger, I'm afraid they are Harry's." She looked back to Harry. "You will look through them, telling us each one once it has finished, and we will place it back into your head afterwards."

Harry nodded and stepped up to the bowl. He had, of course, looked into a pensieve before, but never when his own memories filled it. He placed his face into the bowl and found himself falling and landing on his knees inside the hospital wing. He looked around and saw himself lying unconscious on the bed, Madam Pomfrey attending to him. She was muttering to herself while pouring some sort of potion into a spoon and placing a piece of chocolate on top, which melted into it.

"Oh yes Dementors….brilliant idea at a school…honestly…" She force fed it to a younger Harry and then scuttled away. Harry tried to remember he was really in McGonagall's office, and pulled his head from the pensieve.

Hermione stood from the chair she had sat in. "What was it?"

"Hospital wing, third year. I was unconscious after being attacked by Dementors. How lovely."

McGonagall, now sitting in her chair behind the desk, pulled her wand out and dipped it gingerly into the pensieve, speaking a few words under her breath. More than one silvery strand came up with her wand, and she flicked them at Harry's head (since he was not close enough to put her wand to it, and really it wasn't necessary to touch the head. The memories would naturally soak back in).

"I had originally just removed every memory from today to next week, but I've narrowed it down to the distinct ones. Try again, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded and placed his head back into the pensieve. He fell once more, but tried to remain balanced so he could land on his feet. He was not successful, and landed right on his back in the Chamber of Secrets, Tom Riddle standing right over him, moving the letters around to make his anagram. Having already lived this once, Harry decided to pull his head from the pensieve prematurely.

"Chamber of Secrets. I fought the basilisk and Tom Riddle, destroying the first horcrux."

While Harry couldn't hear them, Hermione had been trying to explain to McGonagall about why they couldn't tell Harry about the prophecy. She had gotten about half a sentence out before Harry had come back up. McGonagall took haste in removing the memory from the pensieve and tossing it at Harry's head. Harry instinctively ducked, causing the silvery strand to fall onto the floor.

"Pick it up, Mr. Potter," McGonagall sighed, and Harry did what he was told, placing it near his head and feeling the odd absorption of the memory back into his mind, and then plunging his face back into the pensieve.

"Anyway," Hermione continued, "Harry has no idea that Cygnus is Draco and Draco has no idea that Hyden is Harry. Telling them about the prophecy, or just Harry, might ruin the chances of the prophecy coming true by affecting how they feel about each other befor-"

"First year, getting through Fluffy, the plant, the flying keys, the potion, and the chess match. Fighting Quirrell and getting the Sorcerer's Stone from the Mirror of Erised. Touching his face and him crumbling to pieces."

McGonagall, with much irritation said, "Do not move," as she picked up the memory and flicked it at Harry.

"Hurry on, then, we haven't got all day to waste."

Agreeing with that statement, Harry placed his head back into the pensieve.

"Continue on, Ms. Granger."

"Well, it will affect how they feel before they really develop feelings for each other. When they do, I think they would care less about who they really were-"

"Fourth year, finding out that Mad Eye had been Barty Crouch Jr. for the whole year, helping me win the tournament so I could be there in the cemetery." Hermione looked questioningly at Harry.

"That is a distinct memory?"

Harry shrugged. "Well…I never forgot how his magical eye looked without anything around it, just whirling around on the floor…"

McGonagall flicked the memory at Harry. "Next memory, please."

"Right," Harry said, then placed his head back into the pensieve.

"…who they really were without their magical rings," Hermione finished.

McGonagall nodded slowly. "I see. Very well."

"I still feel weird about the whole men liking men thing, 'Mione," added Ron.

With a shrug, Hermione replied, "Well after years of pushing away random girls, I figured he couldn't be straight. I mean, he didn't date a single one of those crazy-"

"Seventh year, defending people at trials. Some woman coming up to me sobbing and thanking her for defending her husband. She said she ran a mobile sweet shop that delivered with owls." He smiled. "She gave me her card and said she'd give me anything I wanted. I wonder what I did with that." Despite the fact that the memory had seemed to be useless, something in her brain kept nagging at Hermione.

"Harry, who all did you defend?"

"Uh…loads of people who were suspected Death Eaters, but I knew weren't."

"Get the full list."

"Uh. Alright." McGonagall handed him a quill and parchment. Harry put his face down into the pensieve and began scribbling immediately.

"What is it, 'Mione?"

"I'm not sure, Ron. I completely forgot that Harry had defended people at the Wizengamot. It was all over the Daily Prophet how he defended…" Hermione paused and looked up from the floor to McGonagall, "Narcissa Malfoy. He defended her to the bloody end, saying that she had saved his life by telling Voldemort that he was dead when he really wasn't, but that was the only case that he lost…" Hermione had frozen.

Oh my god, she mouthed.

"What, Ms. Granger?"

"'Mione?"

Hermione put her hands to the sides of her head. "I've completely failed as a friend. I never told Draco that his mother's in Azkaban! I…forgot." Her voice was so much higher than normal in panic.

"Ms. Granger, relax. You can tell Draco the news after we have figured out the meaning of the prophecy."

"D'you think that could be the anniversary the prophecy talks about?" Ron looked between the two. "I mean, surely Draco would be happy that Harry helped his mom, even if he didn't succeed."

"Alright, got the full list." Harry looked around the room, seeing the confusion on Ron's face as he was in deep thought, the concern on McGonagall's face as she searched through her cabinet of potions for calming draught, and the fear on Hermione's face as she paced the window.

"What happened while I was gone?"

"Ah, here it is." McGonagall uncorked the calming draught and poured some into a teacup. "Here, Ms. Granger, drink this."

Hermione's shaking hands grabbed the teacup and she sipped, and then drank, and then gulped. Her shaking stopped and a smile came onto her face.

"Much better," she said. "Who'd you get Harry?" He handed her the list and she read it out-loud. "Argus Filch, Cormac McLaggen, Melinda Bobbin, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Millicent Bullstrode, Graham Montague, Pike, Warrington, Draco Malfoy, Narcissia Malfoy…" Hermione paused. "You defended Draco?"

"Forget about that. You defended Parkinson and Bullstrode?" Ron looked at Harry as if he were insane.

"Well, yeah. I didn't want any of them to go to Azkaban. They weren't Death Eaters."

"Draco was. And so was his mother," Ron said.

"Well, I mean, his mom wasn't...but they helped me. Draco was asked to identify me to Bellatrix when we were caught by the snatchers, but he didn't, even though he knew it was me. And his mom told Voldemort I was dead, though I might have been for a while, but I wasn't. They saved me, so I figured I should return the favor. Couldn't save his mom, though. Apparently saving Voldemort from killing me twice isn't enough for not sending someone to Azkaban if they were really tied to being a Death Eater."

Hermione smiled. "Alright Harry, I think this list will do."

Harry looked questioningly at her. "But you asked about fighting. Here I was defending people."

"You fought the Wizengamot, Mr. Potter. I think that will suffice." McGonagall rose from her chair, a flask full of the memory in her hand. "You may leave now. We do not need you any longer."

He nodded and looked to the window. The sun was setting in the sky and he felt his stomach drop. He was running late.

After the owl had left, Draco had removed his ring and decided to wash the grass stains out of his hair. He had some time to kill (about an hour or two maybe. Emergencies always took a while to resolve).

He made his way to the lake and disrobed, placing a gentle foot into the water and watching the ripples it made. Slowly, he submerged himself, finally placing his head underneath and coming back up. He turned over a strategically placed rock that had a mirror on its flat side and looked at his hair. He could see the pale green tint in the sunlight and took to scrubbing his scalp. As it was doing no help, he swam over to his boulder and ducked under the surface. Inside the boulder was shelf upon shelf of shampoo and conditioners and soap; anything he could possibly need for bathing. He took his Stay Blonde shampoo (yes, it was girl shampoo, but it did wonders for his easily colored hair), and went back under and swam over to his mirror. He squeezed out a small quarter-sized amount and rubbed it into his hair, making bubbles instantly. With his hands busy, the thought to himself.

Really, I feel so awful. Why can't I just fall in love with Hyden? He's so sweet, plus he really likes me, which is more than I can say for Harry Potter. He probably hasn't ever even thought of me as a friend, just someone he argued with in his school days.Why, of all things, do I love him and not someone who could possibly return my affections?

Draco shut his eyes and went back underwater, washing all the shampoo from his hair. The shampoo bubbles rose to the surface and then melted into the lake as every other unnecessary object did. He came back up and looked in his mirror, finding the green tint was gone. And he made himself a promise.

I've had enough of Harry Potter. I will force myself to love Hyden, if I have to. It's not worth chasing after someone who will never love you back.

He got out of the water and pulled his clothes back on, even if he was still wet, though he hardly noticed. He was determined, now, to make logical reasons why he should not like Harry Potter.

Well first and foremost, he almost killed me fifth year. Sectumsempra bloody fucking hurt.

Draco made his way through the forest to his clearing and began looking through his bag to find his Be-Anything book.

Also, he picked Ron and Hermione over me. Really, he had the chance, but he refused. He will never be my friend.

He pulled the book open, seeing the first page was titled, "How to overcome lovesickness-Potion edition" and flipped to the next page, "Reasons to toss away that crush and focus on work."

Yeah, I should be more focused on my life. I haven't got time to dilly-dally with the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die. Honestly, I have better things to be doing.

The next page was titled, "What to do when love potion doesn't wear off" and Draco flipped right by it to, "How to tell if that special somebody may not be the one for you." Draco, needless to say, read the page.

Sometimes, we all fall for people that are wrong for us. Here are some ways to see if that hunk might be a no-no.(Already, Draco could tell this was a book or magazine for a teenage girl)

1: If he doesn't show he cares only about you, he probably doesn't.

2: If there is too much arguing and not enough making up, it's time to leave him.

3: If his friends don't ever comment on how much he likes you, it's usually a sign that they know he doesn't like you.

4: If he constantly disappears, and you don't know where to, he may be cheating. Say goodbye.

As much as Draco was finding the information to be useful in some occasions, mostly it sounded like the article was telling girls to stalk their boyfriends to see if he was right for them. He wanted nothing to do with it. He flipped to the next page, "What not to like in a guy" and started reading.

There are generally five different types of guys:

The Nerd: This guy knows everything you would ever care to know and more. He studies, gets good grades, and will correct people who are wrong. If you go after this guy, you may want to get your facts memorized and be comfortable with being corrected on your grammar.

The Jock: This guy is very involved in sports, keeping an arrogant head in the air since he thinks he's best at everything. If you go after this guy, make sure he keeps his head down to earth and cares more about you than his scores at the big game.

The Scumbag: This guy enjoys his girls, as well as hanging with his guy friends. He can, and will, flirt with any girl he comes into contact with, then brag to his buds. It's best not to fall for this guy. He will only leave you broken-hearted.

The Romantic: This guy sticks to one girl and makes the most of it. If he likes you, he will make sure you know. He would do anything to make you happy, and can often be a sap. If you fall for this guy, prepare to be swept off your feet and have him open the door for you everywhere you go.

The Nice Guy: This guy is completely oblivious. He will stay your friend, even if he's been in love with you since pre-school. He will put up with all your crap and never complain once. If you fall for this guy, make sure to tell him, otherwise you will go nowhere fast.

From the little descriptions, Draco placed Harry as a mixture between the Jock and Nice Guy, and Hyden as the Romantic. The only one that seemed to have the most perks was the Romantic. Draco couldn't see what was wrong with any of the things it mentioned. The Jock, thought, was arrogant and the Nice Guy was hard-headed, both of which could suit Harry Potter. Draco tried to match himself up to one of the categories, but found he could not. He thought about how weird it was, but then realized he just read an article intended for girls and quickly came to the conclusion that he was considered a girl in this situation and would not fit into the categories because of that.

On the next page, he found an odd article titled, "List from Oblivion," with only a few sentences down it. Curious, he read it.

You are both men.

Society will not accept you.

He does not return your interest, for he loves someone else.

When told your name, the first thing he thinks is of your father and how he hates him.

He once thought of what a prat you were.

Never once has he considered you a friend. Only enemy, classmate, and ally.

He pities you.

He would never help your father, no matter how much was offered to him to do so.

Many times he has wanted to punch your face without consequences.

Draco was confused, as that was all it said. Was the book talking about Harry? It had to be. Reading all these things, instead of hearing them in his mind, only multiplied their meaningful value (with the exception of the father comments. He could care less about his father). While his mind felt victorious, his heart felt sad.

He loves someone else? He pities me? It struck hard.

Closing the book, he sighed and looked up at the hole in the ground above him. The light pouring through was growing brighter. Surely Hyden would be back soon. He took his ring from his pocket and placed it back on his finger.

Hyden, he thought. He never would pity me. His heart still ached. Hyden would never hurt me. He wouldn't even care that I am really Draco Malfoy. He would still love me. And never, I bet, has he ever wanted to punch me in the face.

He sighed.

I bet even right now, he wants to hurry back here and spend time with me. I do love him, but I still don't know if I love him enough. Draco, now Cygnus, ran a hand through his hair and tried to regain himself.